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"Why all this
secrecy?"
"I had a caller this afternoon," he began, running his eye over
the other passengers to see if we were observed. "She is going
back on this train. I am not to recognise her at the station, but
you and I are to walk to the end of the platform and enter a
limousine bearing that number."
He produced a card on the back of which was written a number in
six figures. Mechanically I glanced at the name as he handed the
card to me. Craig was watching intently the expression on my face
as I read, "Miss Yvonne Brixton."
"Since when were you admitted into society?" I gasped, still
staring at the name of the daughter of the millionaire banker,
John Brixton.
"She came to tell me that her father is in a virtual state of
siege, as it were, up there in his own house," explained Kennedy
in an undertone, "so much so that, apparently, she is the only
person he felt he dared trust with a message to summon me.
Practically everything he says or does is spied on; he can't even
telephone without what he says being known.


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